Different Perspectives
by IzzySenpaiChan
Summary: Overall an original story, but Bulma Briefs is a large part of this story. In fact, she's the victim. The gunman Desmond Gorman has his sights on Bulma Briefs...but when those sights go haywire with his new target, his new plans leave Bulma with memories that are hard to scrub clean.
1. Chapter 1

(Language warniiinngggg XD)

My name is Desmond Gorman. My alias is Derek. My age won't be said, but I'm not old. Dark hair and blue eyes, normal weight (shall not be enclosed) and kind of snappy personality.

My occupation would be...a hired murderer, you could say. Not an assassin. Nothing flashy like that. That would be saved for Augustine, my friend. Anyway, both my company and my employer's name is classified. Basically, I'm mostly known for my little run-in with Bulma Briefs. Well...I have a share as well. I'm not saying I was forced into it. I accepted a job. That's all there is to it.

Let me guess - you're expecting a totally tragic back story from me. Revenge, hate, abuse, the whole package. Well, not all bad guys are like that.

I myself grew up fine. I wasn't bullied, but I also wasn't popular. I never had any suicidal thoughts or hurt myself in any way, and I got high grades. In the honor roll most of the time, save the couple of C's in math, I was named one of the smartest kids.

When I was younger, I had originally thought of being a surgeon. The thought of working with bodies and seeing what was inside that made them work fascinated me. The heart, liver, stomach, you name it. I wanted to see how it functioned. The heart was the most interesting to me, since mine never worked that well. How it pumped blood and kept the body alive. Sure, the brain does that too, but I never actually wanted to touch and work on it. The heart...it was a lot more interesting.

Back then, the most pain I had felt was when I just got a scrape of the knee or whenever I had a heart problem. Nothing major, mind you. Nothing like the loss of a parent. Both of them loved me dearly - and I love them the same. They came to my graduation and doted on me even when my younger brother died as a small infant. They didn't spoil me, of course. I would be annoyed. But they did teach me right from wrong and let me know why I needed a college degree.

You're now wondering about my younger brother, right? Well, he died, as I said. He had the same heart problem as I do right now. But his was worse. His barely functioned, beating at a slow two beats per minute. He died the day before my graduation, living only for a week, but oddly I wasn't that affected. Of course, my parents were. But they saw the same thing I did, the reason I wasn't too upset, the large difference between me and my brother; they still had me...and my heart was still beating while his was not.

-  
Now that you've had a small of my family life and younger age, you're wanting answers. Answers why I would be so cruel, why someone of my stature would want to go so, so, so low and be a killer. How I met Augustine and how in the world I ended up here. Well. A story is probably in order for each.

I stared at the ceiling idly. The barely noticeable markings on the blue-colored marble stared back at me. I moved my head to the left, my black hair falling over my face as I attempted to see if there was any difference in the views. Nothing. Same blue, same marks. My mind began to wander off to why that seemed to be, why we always see the previous picture than before we turned our heads. Then he popped into my vision.

"Wot the bleedin' 'ell are you doin'?" His disheveled white hair almost covered his hazel eyes. His hair style was nowhere near like mine; his was more choppy and a longer, not to mention curly. Mine was much shorter and choppy. "T'ain't the time to lounge around, Dez!"

I murmured something incoherent, pushing him away from my face and rolling over onto my side. Ahh, couches. They never cease to give me complete comfort.

"Oi! You're the same age as I, a whole 22, an' you won't even 'elp me move all the bloody furniture in?" He continued. "You're the one movin' in, mate, not me!" I chuckled from the depths of the couch's comfort.

"You're my roommate, idiot. I bought the house, you move the furniture in."

"Wot?! You can't 'ave paid for this! It's a whole two stories, it is!" I chuckled.

"Ah, Augustine, you're accent makes your complaining hilarious. I can't even take you seriously." I rolled off the couch, standing up to move the rest of the furniture in. I didn't explain what he already knew. I had bought the house with the money I inherited from my great-aunt who had loved me dearly - I had disliked her. She was...well...batshit crazy.

Yes, the white-haired 22-year-old living with me is named Augustine. More specifically, Augustine Diez. He's a total micromanager, and is actually quite the neat freak. I am too, but not as bad as he is. He has a whole obsession over phone games, like Temple Run and Subway Surfers, and actually has a robotic left arm around two years later. He doesn't like to say how he got it - I might tell you later on.

Setting down a lamp onto a small, circular table Augustine had put down, I stretched. "Dez! Hurry up and 'elp me out!" I heard Augustine exclaim from outside. I sighed, heading out the door, where he had left.

"What is it, idiot?" I asked, heading to where he stood, struggling to lift a large king-size bed. I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? We agreed on heavy stuff first. Why is this still out here?"

"I dunno! I'm not in charge of all this! Now shut up and 'elp me lift it, do!" Whatever the heck he meant with his accent, I lifted the other side up.

"Shit, this is heavy..." I choked from the pain in my arms.

"Oi! N-No cursing! T'ain't gentlemanly, it i-isn't!" He snapped. Rolling my eyes, we both pulled it through the front door.

"How...do we get it up the stairs...g-genius?" I asked.

"I thought you 'ad this planned out, m-mate!" I gave him an annoyed look, and he just glared at me.

"O..Okay...look...I'll go up the stairs...and we walk up them, g-got it?" I saw him nod, and I walked backwards up the stairs, heaving. "I-I shouldn't...be...doing...t-this..."

"Neither should I, m-mate! But we are, and we're doing it." After an excruciating fifteen minutes, the bed was placed and set. I bent forward, hand on my knees, attempting to catch my breath. Augustine chuckled, his breath already restored.

"So, mate, 'ow's your heart?" He asked, bending to see my face. I managed a small chuckle and nod.

"F-Fine..." I coughed and stood up, pushing the hair that covered my eyes back. Augustine grinned, not doing anything with the bleach-white hair that hung in his face over his golden eyes.

"Right. Now...I think a break would be smart, yeah?" I nodded. "Good. You rest while I check for any open jobs. We won't live off of your inherited cash." He walked out of the room as I fell onto the bed, feeling my strained heart calm itself.

What felt like five minutes was actually thirty. Augustine poked his head into my room and smiled. "Oi, fluffy-head, wake up." I stirred from my dozing, looking over to him.

"I got employee applications, I did!" He announced, going over to the side of the bed I laid on. Apparently he had left while I was dozing to get them.

"...Mm..." I mumbled, the back of my hand over my eyes. Of course, right now I would've been a surgeon. A doctor. A cardiac specialist. But when I applied, each turned me down. Each said the same sentence: "Not prepared. Short attention. Abnormal." Of course, I never knew why they said this. I did have short attention, but I took all types of classes and I was normal. But whatever. I can deal. It was just weird how each and every one of the hospitals wrote the same reason.

"Well? Want to see?" Augustine asked. His long hair was in a short ponytail. I hadn't noticed until now. I rolled my eyes. Why he kept his hair that long was unknown to me. Mine was somewhat long too, but not to my shoulders like him. Mine just goes to the middle of my ear. But this idiot hates to cut his any shorter than the end of his neck.

I nodded, sitting up and looking at the two files he held in his hand. Each were a manila color, our names printed on the front in bright, red ink. He handed me mine, and I opened the folder. Its contents held a picture of me - oddly - and my information. Augustine probably told them all of that in my stead.

Moving past the information, there was a packet on the company. The name was in large, bold letters:

 **Kierkov Industries: A Different Business**

Turning in the packet to the next page, it wasn't at all what I expected. It read:

Desmond Gorman. You have been selected to join this fine company as a lethal force to be reckoned with. This company is not like any other, but you've probably gathered that much already. We trade in several types of goods, but we're also a deadly weaponry that gets high targets like king pins and business magnates off the map.

 _You have been selected because of your vast intellect and cunning; however, the main reason is your ability to wield a gun and not feel. In many reports of your past, we gathered, you mainly don't think of consequences or what other people are experiencing. You're cruel, to put in short. And this is a major asset in being a killer. It's not associated with most people, but your friend, Augustine, has shown that you are deadly in your own right. You're a different story, seeing as you actually have no reason for your actions. Even if you have never harmed someone physically, you have the makings of an assasin. If you agree to join, please sign the bottom in both print and your signature. To the right, supply a sample of data so we know this isn't a fake forgery. When you sign, you condemn yourself into silence. You tell no one about this business and you aren't allowed to leave it. You're imprisoned with this business. The only way you leave is death._  
 _Thank you_  
 _President Richard "Boss K" Kierkov_

At the bottom was his signature, and then the lines I needed to sign on and the box for the DNA. All of this seemed a little...cheesy. They chose me for that reason? That doesn't make sense. It seemed idiotic. Augustine looked at me expectantly. "So?"

I closed the folder and set it down on my lap. "I dunno...I mean...I don't exactly want to become a killer." He gave me a completely serious look. "What? You want to be a killer?"

"This is my chance to redeem myself. You know...from back then." He paused, allowing me to think of what he meant. Oh...that. "You know how much I've resented and hated snobs who carelessly hate those lower than 'em, you do." I sighed.

"August," I said, using his nickname. "I know. But killing...that just isn't right."

Suddenly he smiled after a long, awkward silence. It was a genuine one. He didn't look mad or annoyed at all anymore. "...You're right. I...shouldn't do anything like that all...nothing to hurt someone...right?"

I didn't move for a moment. Then I nodded. "Right..." This was probably the only time in my life I actually felt on-edge about Augustine.

"Then I won't do anything. I'll stay the way I am."

An hour after that, he had left the house again and didn't come back until late that day. He had come back completely normal. But something told me he was keeping something from me.

When he walked in the door, I was reading a hardback novel. It was Steven King's "Carrie". I barely looked up from my book when I saw he had blood running down his left arm coming from a red stain on his white cotton T-shirt. Alarmed, I put the book down and pulled him by his other arm towards me. Augustine looked surprised at my sudden action when I pulled his sleeve up. On his shoulder was a deep cut in the mark of an "X". I pulled him into the kitchen, darting for alcohol, thread, and a needle, ready to put my education to use for once.

He sat at the stool near the counter, a neutral expression on his face. It was different somehow, though. I didn't notice then, though, more concerned about getting stitches in his arm and disinfecting his wound. I dragged him to the sink, drenching the "X" in alcohol, receiving a loud groan from my roommate and the sight of red to flow into the drain. He bit his lip to keep from complaining, his right hand curled into a fist. I waited a few minutes before getting narcotics for him not to feel any pain while I stitched it up.

"Why didn't you give me that before, you twit?" He spat, obviously still in pain. I didn't answer him, getting a glass and filling it with water. He downed the pills I had given him quickly as I glared at him.

"How did you get yourself into something like that?"

It was his turn to not answer. Picking up the needle and surgical thread, I skillfully pulled it through the hole in the needle and pricked his skin before the medicine could kick in, causing him to wince painfully. "Wot was that for?!"

"What happened?" I asked calmly, not doing anything else.

"I got in a fight..." He said. Part of me didn't believe that. We let a few more minutes pass for the narcotic to start up. We both remained in silence as we stood by the sink, his skin being punctured several times and strewn back together as if he were a rag doll. "...'er name was Ana..."

"What are you going on about?" I asked, not moving my gaze from the stitching.

He didn't speak for a moment. His white hair covered his eyes, so I couldn't tell what was going through his head. I didn't say anything until he spoke again. "It...wasn't a fight, mate...I killed a woman, I did...'er name was Ana...single, no kids..."

My hand stayed still, poised above his shoulder.

"...Is...this 'X' from her defending herself...?" I asked silently.

He shook his head. "No. It...um...something of an entering rite..."

"You promised." My voice shook slightly. It was frightening to think I hadn't even lived 24 hours with this man and he was already a murderer. "You promised you wouldn't..."

"I promised I wouldn't change!" He suddenly shouted. "I've always been this way, I 'ave! Ever since that day!" Again, he had referenced what had happened as a teen - but I'm not explaining any of that yet.

"...Augustine...you can't kill someone over this-"

"And 'ho says I can't, eh?! No one ever said I couldn't get justice! You know wot 'appened!"

I nodded. "I know, Augustine. But you don't KILL someone for it!"

He slammed me against the wall, his right hand at my throat. I finally saw Augustine's eyes; they were filled with what looked like fear and hate. Unnatural fear and hate. "I'm a killer now, Dez! I can jus' at easily kill you, I can! You spoutin' about this nonsense can very well be the end for you! I'm not afraid to do it, I'm not!" His grip tightened on my throat.

I was actually afraid of Augustine. That was probably the only time he ever lashed out at me. I didn't cross him on that matter again. If he wanted to fuck up his life by being a murderer, okay, fine by me. Just so long as he didn't get me involved, I wouldn't say a word. That was our agreement, aside from me patching up his wounds. That's how it went for a while. He grew used to the alcohol from his many wounds. And for the next two years, nothing changed. But for just two years.

Two years after, I joined. Augustine didn't know, nor did he have a mechanical arm yet. But I didn't join under Kierkov. I joined under Alker. Alker, or Boss A, was more centered around guns instead of assassination like Kierkov was. I was 24 then, walking into the house with a bloody stain on my left shoulder. Augustine was out that night for his different job, the job of a game designer, his dream career. It wasn't that taxing, so he still had time to...work for his other job.

Going into the kitchen, I doused by shoulder in alcohol, taking over ten minutes to get used to the pain. My housemate wasn't going to be back for two more hours, so there was time to spare. Taking narcotics, I waited for another thirty until starting to stitch up my mark that was more like a cross. It was ironic, really. I was never that religious to begin with, as both of my parents were atheists. Thinking about that while sewing the wound got my mind mostly occupied.

"Wot 'appened?" A familiar voice suddenly said behind me. I jumped, fumbling with the needle.

"Augustine! I thought you weren't going to be back for another hour or so!" I didn't turn to him. He would probably see the mark.

"Uh...I got to leave early..." He responded slowly. "Wot 'appened?"

"I cut my arm on the dresser..." I lied. Well, it was a sharp point, and it had cut us multiple times.

"But why would it need stitches?"

"It was pretty deep..."

"It must be hard stitching up your own wound." I heard him put his jacket down and approach me.

"No, no!" I leaned more towards the sink. "I was trained to do this in college...I'm okay..."

"Dez, I know you don't trust me, but I know how to stitch, alright?" He came forward again, and I just decided to go with it. Only glancing at the precise-looking cut, he began stitching up my wound.

It was silent until he had only two stitches left. His stitching wasn't perfect, but it would do. "What made you join?"

I froze. After not speaking, I sighed. "I...found out how they had sabotaged my resumes for hospitals...to get me to join..."

"And?"

"...I figured...I was kind of stuck with it...so...I just decided I should just stop fighting it." There had been many letters from them, I explained, and it was pissing me off left and right. When I went to confront them, they explained the sabotage was for making me sound like a loon to get me to have no other choice but join them. Then I ended up doing just that.

"But couldn't you 'ave changed it? Your life is your own, mate," Augustine said. I didn't speak until the last stitch was finished.

"Well...life is like a picture in some ways - it's permanent. You can't change the photograph, including the face you make. Well, there's one way, and that's Photoshop. But then you've made an artificial life; Nobody likes someone artificial. You have to keep the picture, no matter how ugly it looks, and remember to not make the stupid face you did in the future...and be ready when the camera clicks."

So that's basically how I got my job and how Augustine and I have been together. It is true about what I said, however - that was the only time he's lashed out at me. I don't blame him. He had just killed someone, and then I suddenly bash him. Well, this is beside the point. You're probably still on my back about my meeting with Bulma and all of that lovely stuff, correct? Well...it certainly isn't what you're going to expect.

(So, this is just a little story about Desmond and his viewpoint about his little "confrontation" with Bulma. :3 For those who don't know, it's in the story, "A Problem" that I wrote, like, three years ago. XD Things will be explained. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter! Look for the next!)


	2. Chapter 2

To be honest with you, I never really had much choice in my actions. By actions, I mean attempting to kill Bulma. You might be thinking, "Wow, this murderer guy totally sucks. I'm gonna keep a grudge on the guy for trying to kill a chick I know!" Well, I don't blame you. I'm not saying I regret my actions, no sir, but I am saying that I do have a side to this. So before you bombard me with the things I've heard before, just pay attention. You're not going to believe me at all, but I promise this will make sense in the future.

I hadn't expected actually being assigned a famous person. Walking home with the file in my bag, I thought over what I was told. A multi-billion dollar company was in this woman's hands, the net worth literally trillions. It was odd how she hadn't gotten targeted for robbery yet. She was a high peak, no one stopping her. What the heck did she do with that much cash? Was she as snobbish as all the magazines said? Who the heck was she with? All of these questioned spun in my head as I opened the door, smoothing my hair back and sighing.

Ten years ago I had joined this business. Six years ago, Augustine moved out into his own place. I had long gotten used to the emptiness of the two-story, but it sucked when you had tons of questions that needed answering. Setting my bag down, I took the file out. Leafing through papers of information, I saw most of the biography and the picture I was normally given wasn't there. Though in its place was a note written hastily. "The information wasn't completely printed out," it said. "I'll get it all to you in a week or so." I sighed. I'm not surprised.

Putting the file back down, skipping the name reading, I got up and headed for the stairs. Taking a quick shower and getting dressed in a dark shirt and jeans, I went to the front door. Locking it securely, I headed for the local café: Starbucks. It was huge here in Japan, much more popular than how it was in America. Ah, the advantages of moving from one big country to another.

Reaching the café, I ordered a large venti coffee for myself, as well as a few cake pops of theirs. Waiting for my order, I looked around the small place. Only then did I realize how totally packed the place was. There wasn't an empty seat available. Well, there was one. A woman with abnormally blue hair - well, abnormal to me, not Japan - in a short pixie cut. She sat alone at a small table incorporated for two with an iced coffee in her hand. She had blue eyes that matched her hair, which actually seemed to be observing me. I chuckled to myself, taking my coffee and treats and heading over to her table. Hey, what guy didn't like a lady checking him out? Well, if she was. Then again, I wasn't good with chicks. I could be sinking my own ship.

"Hi," I said. She seemed surprised that I had suddenly sat down.

"Err...hi."

"My name is Derek. There IS only one seat, so I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, not at all. That is, if you don't kidnap me." I laughed.

"I'm sure I wouldn't. So what's your name?"

"Bulma. Nice to meet you, Derek." She smiled. Wow. I'm surprised she had warmed up to me so fast. Her smile was contagious; I ended up grinning back.

"How come you're alone?" I seemed to have struck a nerve. She looked down to her drink, stirring the cream-colored liquid and ice with her straw idly. It was awkwardly silent for a little while, both of us taking a few sips of our drinks.

"...Not too long ago I just got divorced..." She said finally. I blinked.

"Oh. Well, whoever it was is missing out. 100%." I smiled, seeing she was yet again surprised. I was surprised at myself as well. It normally wasn't something I'd say, but...

"What's up with you?"

"Eh?"

"You're so...nice to a stranger..." She responded. "Why is that? I mean, I know I'm pretty good eye candy, but this is usually the part when the guy would say, 'oh, she used to be married, gotta back off'."

"Easy. You're the type of stranger that anyone can really feel comfortable without any hassle. You have a contagious smile, you're nice, and you're cute." I smiled. It wasn't that hard to compliment her, really. Maybe talking to chicks wasn't something so hard.

"...Oh. Thank you." She smiled slightly, but not fully. Maybe she was still sad over the divorce.

"No problem. So, what do you do for a living?"

Things went on like that for around two hours. Snacking on cake pops and drinking coffee until we both had to leave. It was nice to talk to her. She had that kind of snappy attitude that totally suited her. I noticed that after talking with her; how she would crack sarcasm and get really into what we talked about in such an opinionated way. She seriously was a force to be reckoned with...the kind that knew what they were doing, almost daring you to bite while also being polite. Bulma was definitely a good friend of mine after that.

It turned out she was a CEO. A CEO of a large company, for that matter. I was surprised I had actually met her and gained her liking so soon. She probably saw it as pure friendship, but I probably had a small bit of, what you would say, "more than a familiarity" with her. That much was obvious just by the first conversation we had, at least to me.

I laid on the couch, my face in the plush cushions. I had already read through the file again, skipping most of it. I figured I could get rid of the chick anytime I wanted to. It wasn't like I had a time limit. She seemed uninteresting, anyway. No one would mind if she disappeared. After all this time, I hadn't bothered to really look at the file since I had gotten it. After all, I had left her alone for month so far, which was how long it had been since I had gotten the file and met Bulma. My mind paused. Bulma. Wait. Shit.

I bolted off the couch and upstairs, undressing as fast as I could and pulled on a random T-shirt and black jeans, barely able to tie my shoes without tripping down the stairs. Well...up until the last step. Ignoring the bruise on my right cheek, I bolted out the front door, locking it hastily before checking my watch. I was already five minutes late. I swore loudly, sprinting down the sidewalk. Thank God it wasn't that far, at least.

My shoes made a comical screeching sound as I turned and rushed through the scenery of green trees and families picnicking around colorful petals of flowers and bushes. Kids' laughing sounded nearby as I rushed past the park nearby. 'This is going to mess my heart up so bad...' I thought.

Finally seeing Bulma, I felt the tip of my shoe hit against something hard. I tumbled forward, falling on the stone. I wasn't hurt, luckily. Glancing up, Bulma hadn't seen anything. I sighed with relief inwardly. That was disgraceful, given my occupation. Geez, my boss would have my head for it.

Scrambling to get up, I walked causally towards her, seeing she was looking towards a pond as she leaned against a bench. I ended up observing her for a few minutes, the only sound between us the breeze of the wind and the slight rustle of a leaf scraping against the concrete of the sidewalk. She had on a casual sweater that hung on her shoulders, colored red that stood out from her blue shades. She wore skinny blue jeans with knee-high chocolate-colored boots. I then realized I was standing there in just a T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. She seemed to actually CONSIDER what she was wearing before coming, unlike me.

"Hey," I said, approaching her while trying to catch my breath and calm my heart. She turned her head in my direction, a smile instantly lighting up her features.

"Derek," she said, hugging me. It did surprise me, even after the month I've known her. She didn't seem to know I was late, but I smiled, returning it. I felt a bit guilty to use my alias on her still, but it was necessary. "Oh - your cheek."

I palmed the bruise. "Oh, this? I tripped."

"Ouch...you okay?" I nodded, grinning.

"How've you been?" I asked, leaning against the back of the wooden bench next to her after the hug.

"Good." She glanced at the flowers, blowing a lock of hair from her face. "A sweater was a stupid decision to wear."

"Hnn? Why's that?"

She gave me a look like I was crazy. "Really? It's like, 70 degrees out here."

"69," I corrected. She rolled her eyes, but I just chuckled. "But I don't think so. You look good in your sweater."

She smiled again. "Thank you. I like your Halo T-shirt, by the way."

"Thanks. I actually won it online." That was a lie. My boss had bought it for me after my fifth kill, even if she was a total bitch.

"So...Derek..." Her tone had changed from carefree to nervous. "...I've been curious...and I kinda called you here for it...but...um..."

"Yeah?" I asked, watching her expression.

"Well...I'll ask you later. It seems a bit odd to ask when you just came." Even if she had put it off, I had my own hopeful guess on what she was going to ask. I decided not to bother her with it.

We spent a while just walking through the park and chatting about casual things. Talking about our jobs and our families, and eventually hit past relationships as we were nearing a bridge.

"Never?! Not even one?!"

"Nope..." I chuckled with a sheepish smile. "Not even one."

"But-! You seem like a guy who would be FLOODED with girlfriends!" She stopped at the railing of the bridge, leaning against it while looking at me expectantly with evident surprise.

I shrugged. "Not all guys can impress chicks. I've never been into being into a relationship anyway." She seemed to go quiet. Unnaturally quiet.

"Would you not want one now?" She asked with a slight bit of hope, oddly. She wasn't looking at me; her gaze was attentive to the water.

I thought about it. Sirens were going off in my head to just blurt out an immediate, "HELL YEAH! WITH YOU!" I was silent for a few minutes, looking at the water as well. Did I seriously have that bad of a crush on her?

"I suppose I wouldn't mind," I said as casually as I could.

She seemed to lighten up a bit. She nodded. "Okay. I was just curious..."

"Why's that?" It was her turn to go silent. She seemed to be debating whether or not to say something important. After a pregnant pause, she sighed. She pushed off the railing, turning to face me. Sensing this was important, I did the same.

"...I was wondering...if you actually wanted to go o-" I cut her off with an immediate kiss on her lips. It was just instinct. She was obviously confused with the sudden action, but didn't pull away. In fact, she actually returned it. I'm not sure how long had passed, but when the kiss was broken, things had seemed more still. Somehow I had ended up leaning her more towards the railing, and I took a step back. A large blush was on her cheeks, which made me smile.

"That was a yes," I said. Bulma blinked.

"I...noticed..."

"What's so weird is that that was my first kiss." I laughed. It was odd having a warm feeling in my chest. It felt tight, like I would have a heart attack. But I wasn't concerned. We were officially a thing...I guessed. I had nothing else to worry about. I guess this was a way of saying that was a kiss that had actual feelings.

From that day on, we had a few dates here and there and just some casual meetings. Either way, the company she gave me was wonderful. It was a nice change of pace, you could say. Hearing from her almost became the highlight of my day, even if she said she wouldn't say "I love you" or kiss me until a month was over - which was tomorrow. Had I really only known her for almost two months and I was going out with her?

"Check your file eventually," a text read on my phone from one of my coworkers. I rolled my eyes, turning the device off. Jeez, they were always impatient when I came to these important tasks. All I had to do was blow the bitch's face off, no big deal. But still, since I had a job to keep up with and I happened to like where I live, I opened the file.

Looking through the bio, it read she was a CEO and a mother of one. Married. Okay, same as I had read. Flipping through the pages, I stopped, getting past the packet of papers stapled together. There, behind all the papers that I had thought was incomplete, was the rest of the information that I had been putting off to read. I looked at the printed documents leisurely, not too concerned with what was here. Hmm. Odd. Some of this seemed to be familiar.

Known to have a bossy attitude. Considered attractive. Relationship status changed recently to single by divorce.

Figuring my brain needed some rest from reading all of the information and needed to process it, I got up and put coffee on. While it was brewing, I walked around the kitchen, pacing with the papers in my hand. Something slid past my hand and onto the tile floor once I had turned the page. Bending to pick it up, my eyes widened with surprise. It was the picture I thought I would never get.

It was Bulma. Laminated and in color, there was no doubt. The same blue hair and pixie cut style. Thinking back on the documents, what she had told me made sense. I swallowed. I wasn't in the mood for coffee anymore. Reading it even when I was done, I scanned through it all again. There wasn't a mistake. It was Bulma. I had to kill her.

Yes, yes, yes, I did seem a bit surprised when I found out who it was. But I wasn't heartbroken, nor do I regret anything. And I DO NOT have feelings for her now. More than likely she despises the shit out of me anyway as of late. Not to mention I have someone else. But I wasn't that affected by the news - it seemed something was off, even if it was pleasant with her. And thus, it turned out I was moved in that direction. I hope you're not confusing me for being FORCED into this, because if you are, you're wrong. If I actually didn't want to do anything to hurt her AT ALL, then I would've cancelled the request. But I'm not saying I wanted to hurt her, either. It's like the feelings I had just went neutral.

In either case, I didn't tell her anything. More than anything, being in a relationship was probably an advantage to me. From that point on, anytime I would kiss her goodbye, I never had any warm feeling. Nothing like a positive feeling.

The first kiss, I definitely felt something. The second, which did happen the next day, I felt nothing.


End file.
